Way Back Home
by IgnorantWisdomArtisticVision
Summary: Peeta Mellark's POV starting with part 3 of the Hunger Games, "The Victor". Feel free to give constructive criticism. I do not own the Hunger Games, all rights go to Suzanne Collins.


_ Cladius Templesmith's voice booms down from overhead, congratulating the six of us who remain. But he is not inviting us to a feast. He's saying something very confusing. There's been a rule change in the Games. A rule change! That in itself is mind bending since we don't really have any rules to speak of except don't step off your circle for sixty seconds and the unspoken rule about not eating one another. Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive. Claudius pauses, as if he knows we're not getting it, and repeats the change again._

_ The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. If they're from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live._

_ Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name._

* * *

><p>Part III<p>

"The Victor"

Peeta's POV

Shock. That of course, is my immediate reaction to Claudius Templesmith's announcement. My Hunger Games knowledge may be limited, but I know rule changes do not occur often. Rule changes are serious. Something big is about to happen, I just know it.

As I lie here in what has become my new home, a muddy bank, I try to keep my mind on more positive things. Like why the rules has suddenly changed, but how grateful I am that one extra person may keep their life. Even if that pair are Cato and Clove, the district one tributes. Try as I may, my mind lets down the wall of positivity I was building, and the ugly truth is revealed. The truth? More of us must continue to die, I can feel my own life slipping away, and _she_ is still in possible danger. I did my best to protect her against Cato, other tributes, and just the Games in general. It was my plan from the beginning. Right after the reaping. Even under the influence of tracker jacker venom I can remember the last time I seen her with perfect clarity . . .

Cato. Bloody brutal Cato was chasing me through the woods, spear in hand ready to do what he loves most: kill. He figured out the jig was up, and I wasn't actually his true ally. All along I've been misguiding my fellow career pack. Let me remind you I barely made it into the pack at all in the first place. Now that I've showed my true colors he wasn't happy with what he was seeing. Dizzy, heart pounding, and my own speak at hand I ran as fast as I could. I burst through the bushes and who do I see? Katniss Everdeen. Hunter, tribute, and oh, love of my life on the ground looking at me like she has no idea what's going on. Then it occurred to me that she may of gotten stung as well. Cato will be here any second. She needs to leave! Now!

"What are you still doing here?" I ask. She's in danger, yet all she does is stare at me. I use the end of my spear to poke her.

"Are you mad?" I question. She continues to be unresponsive.

"Get up! Get up!" I command.

She slowly rises, but she's not moving fast enough. We're running out of time. I give her a rough shove in the opposite direction. I can actually hear Cato's hard angry breathing from a short distance away. Take right now for instance. Cato slashes through a bush. Times up.

"Run!" I scream. "Run!". The sight of him is enough to push her forward. I get a final glimpse of her stumbling away.

Cato doesn't say anything to me, and he doesn't need to. Under normal circumstances I would try to avoid a fight through peaceful negotiation, but right now isn't the time. He glares at me with his swollen face, and I brace myself. Cato charges, and I poise my spear. He slashes at my upper body, and I use my spear to deflect his swing. He comes at me again, but I move out of reach from his sword. It's obvious the venom of the tracker jackers have impaired his senses, so he can't fight as well. My own sense were obviously weaker as well. That's my explanation to why I was to slow to avoid Cato's sword this time around. I can still feel the sharp edge of the long blade opening a deep gash in my left leg. The terrible burning sensation (and other types of pain I can't even describe) as the point of the sword hit my bone. Amazingly enough it didn't hurt as terribly as I thought it would right away probably because of the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

When Cato withdrawals his knife from my leg I remember to use my spear to just disarm him, so I do. Cato tackles me, and my wrestling instincts take over impulsively. I'm able to pin him down and put him into a chock hold in hopes of suffocating him. I use all the strength in my arms to keep him down. He then kicks me insanely hard in my left leg. Game over. He's out of my grasp, and stumbling away. We're both to disoriented to continue fighting. I notice my leg is bleeding heavily, but I can handle that later. First, I need to get out of here and take cover.

I slowly rise and limp away towards a section of the arena I'm not familiar with. This new foreign place is covered in rocks, mud, and plant life. It goes downhill for miles. I look for threats such as traps or other tributes. The coast is clear. As time goes on, every time I put pressure on my leg I receive an unyielding throbbing pain. Only after I try to focus on something other than the pain and other previous injuries do I notice my bloody hands have been leaving trails on the rocks. _Way to be stealthy _I think. I try to erase my marks, but quickly give up and keep moving because who's going to notice a small amount of blood among the millions of rocks?

Going down the steep incline of rocks the toe of my boot catches in a deep crack, and I am sent straight into a pool of thick brown mud. Unsure If I fractured my leg or not I decide to stay put. I know I am to to injured to keep going . . . .

It's then I realized for the first time in the Games I'm alone. You wouldn't believe how long two or three days can feel. I've never felt lonelier. That's beside the point though. My goal was to keep Katniss safe. I made this my goal when she volunteered for her sweet younger sister, Prim, at the reaping. I figured if she was willing to sacrifice her life for someone she loves, I could do the same. She deserves to win.

A pang of longing hits me. I miss her. Is it possible she may feel the same way? I doubt it. On the day of the horrid tracker jacker incident I could feel her icy glare burning a hole through me. Makes no difference if she's sixty feet up a tree, or six inches away from me. I feel it just the same. I understand where she's coming from though. If I were in her shoes I would be infuriated with me too. Only my people way back home and in the Capitol knew what I was up to. What my true intentions are.

I can feel my eyelids closing involuntarily. Another day has gone by, and even though I haven't moved from the mud (I don't think I can) I'm just simply tired. Im hoping death is just as, or even more peaceful than sleep. I'll be sure to find out.


End file.
